MARY HAD HAD A FEW GLASSES OF WINE by the time Martina took to the gazebo, inching her way in front of the band, then clinking a salad fork against her goblet. “I just want to thank you all for coming,” started Martina, her accented English becoming more charming with drink. Patrick stood by her side, smiling and mute, but impressive all the same. “We love nothing more than to be surrounded by family and friends, and so you all do us such an honor by joining us for this every summer.” Martina clutched her heart and nodded at the faces she looked onto from her perch. “And because I always must lead us in a toast”—Martina raised her glass as her eyes searched the glowing dark—“this year I would like to honor our wonderful sons, Teddy and Stefan, who are making us so very proud.” Martina’s eyes found her sons, and Stefan nodded graciously toward his mother. “Cheers, my loves,” she said. And Mary felt her skin tingle; she felt the warmth of adoration as glasses were raised and the sound of goodwill rose through the sea of guests to honor the man her heart had claimed. And Mary pulled Hannah close to her, wanting her to feel it, too.
“You know,” Mary said, leaning down so that only Hannah could hear, her voice like wind. “Someday I’m going to tell you everything, Bunny.”
Hannah looked back at her sister, and Mary smiled, her eyes wild and twinkling things. “It’s such a good story,” Mary said, just as the crowd echoed a thunderous “Cheers!” and Mary stood and drained her glass.
And after Stefan’s hand was shaken and his back patted, Mary linked her arm through his and held Hannah’s hand with her other, and the three of them whirled through the crowd under a ceiling of starlight. And perhaps it was the feeling of motion, of movement, that emboldened her, that dulled the dexterity with which she usually wove her tales, or perhaps it was the wine, but Mary’s stories came spilling from her mouth without thought of repercussion. Perhaps, for that one evening, Mary believed them. Oh! I love Paris, she said. I spent some time at the Sorbonne. And Yes, I met Princess Diana once with my father. Hannah squeezed her hand, a silent plea to stop, as Stefan gave her glances of amused confusion.
And only when she heard Hannah’s gasp of recognition, the tiny intake of breath through her sister’s lips, did fantasy and reality fall apart as if cleaved by a blade. When Mary followed her sister’s eyes and saw through the shifting crowd the face of a ghost, her feet turned leaden, and all that lay in her wake seemed not distant but far too close. For one moment, they stared at each other, as the sea of bodies that had parted flowed together once again. “I think I need to go home. I don’t feel good,” said Mary, her eyes not moving from the spot where he had been, sensing his presence like scent. Because Mary had told enough tales to know the narrative of a fall, enough to know that on either side of an apex lay a steep slope down. That all someone would have to do was push.
STEFAN TOLD ONLY HIS PARENTS that they were leaving before taking Mary to his car. “I had too much to drink,” she said, as he led her over the lawn, her steps unsteady.
“Hannah Banana, how are you doing?” called Stefan, as Hannah walked behind them. Mary glanced back at her sister, and Hannah met her eyes, her face serious, intuiting that she should say nothing about who was there but not knowing why.
“I’m okay,” Hannah finally answered, her dress dragging on the grass as she walked.
“We’re gonna get your sister home, okay?”
And Hannah nodded. “Okay.”
Mary was silent as they drove, her head against the cool glass of the passenger’s window of Stefan’s car as it glided over Northton’s smooth black roads. And when they pulled up to the condo, Stefan got out without a word and began to walk quickly across the front of the car to Mary’s side. Mary turned back to Hannah, her chin on the seatback.
Mary stared at her for a moment before speaking. Her face always softened when looking at Hannah. “Did you have fun tonight?” she asked.
Hannah nodded. “I thought I saw someone,” she said. “I can’t remember his name.”
“Shhhh,” she said, her voice like wind through grass. “It was no one, Bunny.” Then she turned back to the black windshield just as Stefan opened her door.
“Thanks, Stef,” she said, taking his hand as he helped her out. “I think I just need to lie down. Hannah, can you get yourself ready for bed tonight?”
Hannah nodded again.
In her room, Mary got undressed, pulled on a thin white tank top, walked over to the bed, and pulled the phone cord from the jack in the wall with a tug. She climbed into bed, gathering the loose white covers up around her. Her teeth began to chatter, but not with cold.
Hannah soon joined her, and so did Stefan later, bringing with him cushions from the couch. He arranged them on the floor next to Mary’s side of the bed and pulled off his dress shirt before lowering himself onto them. On her other side, Hannah laid limp with sleep. Mary kept her eyes closed, but Stefan reached up and stroked her arm until his movement slowed, then stopped. It was the first night that he had spent with the Chase girls. And when all was quiet around her, Mary opened her eyes and stared at the square patch of ceiling that was illuminated by the lights outside. “I’m sorry,” Mary said. Though spoken quietly, her words penetrated the room.
She heard Stefan give a ragged intake of breath as he rolled to his side and repositioned himself. “It’s okay, Mare,” he mumbled. And Mary looked down at him, feeling an almost unbearable weight on her chest. “You just got a little looped.” Her stories, their sudden departure—Stefan blamed them on the very good gewürztraminer that Martina was serving. And Mary thought that perhaps it was all for the best, that the grace of the Kellys couldn’t change who she was. That our natures brought with them inevitability. That we were all blindly hurling toward our own like a boat barreling toward the falls.
Throughout that long night, as Mary lay on her back with one hand reaching down toward Stefan, the other over Hannah, she felt the specific regret of a creature that had mistaken its opponent. And when sleep finally did overtake her, she dreamed of a long open wound in her leg. She dreamed of licking and licking and licking it clean.
In the early hours of the morning, when her eyes opened with a jolt, she knew he was there. And Mary Chase lifted herself carefully out of bed and climbed over her sister. She left the bedroom quickly and took a blanket that she wrapped around her body like a cloak. Then she went down to the foyer and sat in the stairs, her leg bouncing as she waited for him. She stood before the bell rang, opening the door as soon as she sensed his presence, the hinges moving silently.
“Hi, Tim,” she said.
And his smile is one that she would never forget.
Seventeen
1983